


8 5 1 22 5 14

by daisybrien



Category: Escape from Furnace - Alexander Gordon Smith
Genre: Awkward Kissing, Book 2: Solitary, First Kiss, M/M, Oh Alex, Solitary, Solitary Confinement, bad timing, idk man just take it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-17
Updated: 2018-08-16
Packaged: 2019-06-28 12:49:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,586
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15707565
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/daisybrien/pseuds/daisybrien
Summary: The regular routine: Alex finds himself in danger, acts on an impulse, and deals with the aftermath.





	1. Y-E-E-T

**Author's Note:**

  * For [VividSunsets](https://archiveofourown.org/users/VividSunsets/gifts).



> Prompt: Kissing when in danger.
> 
> If you have trouble reading the (technically) dialogue formatting in this, the next chapter is exactly the same but written in traditional quotations.

It takes the familiar metal clang through the walls of his little hole in the ground for Alex to realize how deep in hell he is.

He’s dozed off into a half-awake, fitful daze with his cheek pressed up against the wall when the sound makes him jolt, the moving threads of light his frazzled mind painted behind his eyelids dissolving against the pressing darkness that consumes him. His heart stutters with fear for a moment, his hands flailing out to brush against an imaginary foe before he can grasp onto the frayed end of his sanity. He sighs to himself, the sound of it absorbed into the cracks of the stone around him, and lets the cadence of metal banging against metal ground his senses before some smaller part of his chaotic mind pipes up again.

He doesn’t bother counting each beat. He lets it fizzle out as slowly as it had wormed its way into his consciousness, having lost track of them before he could even begin, and waits and waits and waits and wonders if it will come back again. When it does, he counts each distant strike of the pipes buried beneath him on his fingers, the whisper of his voice loud as a scream in his ringing ears. 

8\. Pause. 5. Pause. 25, a long one. Pause, and nothing.

H-E-Y.

Oh, Alex is in hell.

He doesn’t bother picking up the grate across the space from him; he had practically been sick with terror as the two of them had tried to scramble back into their holes last time, and despite the way time seems to warp and bend and extend in this dark, silent place, he doesn’t fancy having to pick up his toilet so soon after his recent business. However, the silence on his end of the line doesn’t seem to deter his neighbor. Zee keeps on when he realizes he won’t get a response, and Alex reluctantly counts the number of times Zee strikes the pipes of his cell with his usual enthused boredom.

S-O.

Definitely, absolutely hell.

Alex groans to no one as he heaves himself across his hole – which, he knows, isn’t really that far to begin with – and knows that in order to stave off the claustrophobia and the lonely desperation and the persistent string of beats against solitary’s plumbing, he’ll have to respond eventually.

S-O-W-H-A-T.

S-O-A-B-O-U-T-T-H-A-T-T-H-I-N-G.

This is hell, because despite the way his heart speeds in his chest and the further he presses his mortified face into the wall, he isn’t given the mercy of a heart attack to put him out of his misery. This is hell, because he’s faced monstrous guards and dogs without flesh. He’s seen his friends turned into bloodthirsty monsters, drooling black down their slack jaws while their silver eyes stare unseeing like dead men. He’s been chased by rats. He’s had the rattle of a gasmask and the heavy footfalls of fancy shoes under sharp suits follow just around the corner as he and Zee had scrambled back from the infirmary, and when Zee’s overalls had caught against a jagged edge in the rock before Simon could fully close the lid over him, their gazes met, and Alex ached to see a heartbreaking dread buried in the tired, scared eyes of his friend.

He had seen resolute horror in those wide blue eyes, and when his brain tried to connect the distant dots of fear and love and adrenaline feeding into his senses it must have short-circuited; he had grabbed Zee by the nape of the neck, yanked him forward in what he thought would be his last act before losing him forever, only then promptly shoving him down onto his ass before leaping into his own hole, almost thankful that Simon was locking him up there. 

It had been nonsense. It had been utter stupidity in the face of an imminent death when he saw the shadows of those guards rounding the corner for them. But it also had been a little bit of heaven, their lips connecting the brightest bit in the darkness since they’ve seen Donovan smile. That heaven crashing down on him now, as the pain of aching legs and racing heartbeat brought him back into the moment, and now? 

I-M-I-N-H-E-L-L. Alex bangs out each letter slowly, deliberately, the finality of it getting lost in translation along the distorted vibrations of the twisted maze of metal and stone. 

H-O-W-F-L-A-T-T-E-R-I-N-G, comes Zee’s tedious response. Alex’s knee bounces as he anxiously anticipates the message, one dirty nail jammed between his teeth. T-H-A-T-B-A-D-H-U-H.

S-H-U-T-U-P, Alex slams out.

I-M-N-O-T-T-A-L-K-I-N-G, Zee says, or technically doesn’t say, his sardonic attitude palpable even in the monotone beat that barely spans the distance between them. Alex can’t help but groan.

P-L-E-A-S-E, Alex starts, each strike rattling against the cramped rock walls of his cell. J-U-S-T-F-O-R-G-E-T-A-B-O-U-T-I-T. He wonders if hitting the grate with a different method translates the nuance of what they’re saying, if Zee has tried a different tempo or speed, varied the strength of his twig arms as he taps out his messages only to get lost in the catacombs underneath their feet. He reminds himself to ask when they’re able to see the dim light of the prison again, but without that relief for now, all Alex can do is clench his jaw as his teeth clatter with the frustration he forces into his reply.

He’s about half way through the first letter of Zee’s name when his ears pick up an echo. The interruption is lost under the noise resounding loudly around him with nowhere left to go, and Alex is almost startled by it. They’ve never interjected in between each other’s messages, preferring to occupy the agonizing stretch of time by waiting for them to finish each and every letter, but Alex obediently allows it. He knows he’s just distracting him, the length of Zee’s name a stall for time before he has to accept the inevitable response, so he waits, and lets Zee take his time.

A-L-E-X, his name first, the cadence slow and contemplating. The image of a loading text bubble pops into his mind, the three dots scrolling along like an excited ellipsis that makes him utter a little unhinged giggle. I-D-O-N-T-W-A-N-T-T-O.

Alex sits there for a minute, laying his head back against damp rock as he mulls it over before almost jolting with the stream of panic that takes hold of him. He recounts each beat, tracing his finger along the floor in the dark to tally them.

W-H-A-T, is all he says. He’s too numb to opt for the comfort of their usual longwinded prose.

I-L-I-K-E-D-I-T.

“Holy shit,” Alex utters to himself, cheering on a hoarse breath as he launches up to his feet and promptly knocks his head on the top of the cell. He curses, and he doesn’t know if it’s from pain or elation.

O-M-G-I-J-U-S-T-H-I-T-M-Y-H-E-A-D-O-N-M-Y-L-I-D, Alex gives in response, and he imagines Zee, alone in the dark, arms around himself as he smiles.

W-H-Y, comes the reply a while after, the message itself minutes long. D-I-D-Y-O-U-J-U-M-P-F-O-R-J-O-Y-I-N-Y-O-U-R-S-A-R-D-I-N-E-C-A-N.

N-O.

Y-O-U-P-O-P-P-E-D-Y-O-U-R-T-O-P.

N-O-O-O-O-O-O-

Y-O-U-R-E-A-B-A-D-L-I-A-R, Zee says, and Alex laughs through the whole thing, light like air for the first time in months, warmer than he’s felt since Donovan sat with the two of them, shoulder-to-shoulder, under fluorescent lights as their feet dangled off the ledge of their cell’s platform. B-U-T-A-G-O-O-D-K-I-S-S-E-R.

Alex grins to the dark, to the small space where he imagines Zee sitting beside him, their hands intertwined, pressing close to hide against the hopelessness that fails to cave in around them. Y-O-U-R-E-N-O-T-T-H-A-T-B-A-D-Y-O-U-R-S-E-L-F.


	2. Yeet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Exactly the same as the last chapter, but for easier reading if the dialogue messed you up.

It takes the familiar metal clang through the walls of his little hole in the ground for Alex to realize how deep in hell he is.

He’s dozed off into a half-awake, fitful daze with his cheek pressed up against the wall when the sound makes him jolt, the moving threads of light his frazzled mind painted behind his eyelids dissolving against the pressing darkness that consumes him. His heart stutters with fear for a moment, his hands flailing out to brush against an imaginary foe before he can grasp onto the frayed end of his sanity. He sighs to himself, the sound of it absorbed into the cracks of the stone around him, and lets the cadence of metal banging against metal ground his senses before some smaller part of his chaotic mind pipes up again.

He doesn’t bother counting each beat. He lets it fizzle out as slowly as it had wormed its way into his consciousness, having lost track of them before he could even begin, and waits and waits and waits and wonders if it will come back again. When it does, he counts each distant strike of the pipes buried beneath him on his fingers, the whisper of his voice loud as a scream in his ringing ears. 

8\. Pause. 5. Pause. 25, a long one. Pause, and nothing.

"Hey."

Oh, Alex is in hell.

He doesn’t bother picking up the grate across the space from him; he had practically been sick with terror as the two of them had tried to scramble back into their holes last time, and despite the way time seems to warp and bend and extend in this dark, silent place, he doesn’t fancy having to pick up his toilet so soon after his recent business. However, the silence on his end of the line doesn’t seem to deter his neighbor. Zee keeps on when he realizes he won’t get a response, and Alex reluctantly counts the number of times Zee strikes the pipes of his cell with his usual enthused boredom.

"So."

Definitely, absolutely hell.

Alex groans to no one as he heaves himself across his hole – which, he knows, isn’t really that far to begin with – and knows that in order to stave off the claustrophobia and the lonely desperation and the persistent string of beats against solitary’s plumbing, he’ll have to respond eventually.

"So what?"

"So about that thing."

This is hell, because despite the way his heart speeds in his chest and the further he presses his mortified face into the wall, he isn’t given the mercy of a heart attack to put him out of his misery. This is hell, because he’s faced monstrous guards and dogs without flesh. He’s seen his friends turned into bloodthirsty monsters, drooling black down their slack jaws while their silver eyes stare unseeing like dead men. He’s been chased by rats. He’s had the rattle of a gasmask and the heavy footfalls of fancy shoes under sharp suits follow just around the corner as he and Zee had scrambled back from the infirmary, and when Zee’s overalls had caught against a jagged edge in the rock before Simon could fully close the lid over him, their gazes met, and Alex ached to see a heartbreaking dread buried in the tired, scared eyes of his friend.

He had seen resolute horror in those wide blue eyes, and when his brain tried to connect the distant dots of fear and love and adrenaline feeding into his senses it must have short-circuited; he had grabbed Zee by the nape of the neck, yanked him forward in what he thought would be his last act before losing him forever, only then promptly shoving him down onto his ass before leaping into his own hole, almost thankful that Simon was locking him up there. 

It had been nonsense. It had been utter stupidity in the face of an imminent death when he saw the shadows of those guards rounding the corner for them. But it also had been a little bit of heaven, their lips connecting the brightest bit in the darkness since they’ve seen Donovan smile. That heaven crashing down on him now, as the pain of aching legs and racing heartbeat brought him back into the moment, and now? 

"I'm in hell." Alex bangs out each letter slowly, deliberately, the finality of it getting lost in translation along the distorted vibrations of the twisted maze of metal and stone. 

"How flattering," comes Zee’s tedious response. Alex’s knee bounces as he anxiously anticipates the message, one dirty nail jammed between his teeth. "That bad, huh?"

"Shut up," Alex slams out.

"I'm not talking," Zee says, or technically doesn’t say, his sardonic attitude palpable even in the monotone beat that barely spans the distance between them. Alex can’t help but groan.

"Please," Alex starts, each strike rattling against the cramped rock walls of his cell, "just forget about it." He wonders if hitting the grate with a different method translates the nuance of what they’re saying, if Zee has tried a different tempo or speed, varied the strength of his twig arms as he taps out his messages only to get lost in the catacombs underneath their feet. He reminds himself to ask when they’re able to see the dim light of the prison again, but without that relief for now, all Alex can do is clench his jaw as his teeth clatter with the frustration he forces into his reply.

He’s about half way through the first letter of Zee’s name when his ears pick up an echo. The interruption is lost under the noise resounding loudly around him with nowhere left to go, and Alex is almost startled by it. They’ve never interjected in between each other’s messages, preferring to occupy the agonizing stretch of time by waiting for them to finish each and every letter, but Alex obediently allows it. He knows he’s just distracting him, the length of Zee’s name a stall for time before he has to accept the inevitable response, so he waits, and lets Zee take his time.

"Alex," his name first, the cadence slow and contemplating. The image of a loading text bubble pops into his mind, the three dots scrolling along like an excited ellipsis that makes him utter a little unhinged giggle. "I don't want to."

Alex sits there for a minute, laying his head back against damp rock as he mulls it over before almost jolting with the stream of panic that takes hold of him. He recounts each beat, tracing his finger along the floor in the dark to tally them.

"What?" is all he says. He’s too numb to opt for the comfort of their usual longwinded prose.

"I liked it"

“Holy shit,” Alex utters to himself, cheering on a hoarse breath as he launches up to his feet and promptly knocks his head on the top of the cell. He curses, and he doesn’t know if it’s from pain or elation.

"Oh my god, I just hit my head on my lid," Alex gives in response, and he imagines Zee, alone in the dark, arms around himself as he smiles.

"Why," comes the reply a while after, the message itself minutes long. "Did you just jump for joy in your sardine can?"

"No."

"You popped your top."

"Nooooo-"

"You're a bad liar," Zee says, and Alex laughs through the whole thing, light like air for the first time in months, warmer than he’s felt since Donovan sat with the two of them, shoulder-to-shoulder, under fluorescent lights as their feet dangled off the ledge of their cell’s platform. "But a good kisser."

Alex grins to the dark, to the small space where he imagines Zee sitting beside him, their hands intertwined, pressing close to hide against the hopelessness that fails to cave in around them. "You're not too bad yourself."

**Author's Note:**

> hmu @ daisybrien and callumorrissey on tumblr


End file.
